


One Hundred and Eleven Days

by themonkeycabal



Series: Run 'Verse [28]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themonkeycabal/pseuds/themonkeycabal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve deserved an explanation, he deserved the truth, he did not deserve to have her talk him in circles. Peggy said be honest. "Okay, let's do this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On Friday Darcy inherited a secret lair, on Monday she made an offer on the property to build another. Who didn't need two secret bases? 

When she took Tony to the site in Williamsburg, he walked around the block once, scratched at his chin, looked at Manhattan, looked at the hole in the ground, shrugged and said "buy it". Gloria, the real estate agent, who hadn't stopped gawping at Tony since they pulled up, was on her phone faster than Darcy had ever seen another human being move. 

On Tuesday they brought Pepper down for a more thorough evaluation, but in the end she said the same thing. Or, actually, she said "it looks like a sound real estate investment". Gloria laughed and cried and hugged them all. And DL Holdings, LLP was born (the name wasn't her choice; Pepper got fed up with waiting for her to come up with something, and apparently Pew Pew Pew Property wasn't an acceptable option). 

On Wednesday morning she told Bucky he had a bar. He looked like he wanted to kiss her. Honestly, she wouldn't have stopped him. But, then he'd just smirked and pulled a notepad from his pocket and started sketching plans. Well, somebody was happy, at least. Because Wednesday afternoon didn't do her any favors. 

"It's funny how when Bucky started talking to me again, you stopped."

Darcy scrunched her nose and didn't look up as Steve walked through the common room. So, maybe it wasn't an ideal place to work, but the walls of her office were starting to close in and the suits kept staring at her; plus, she was tired of hiding. Maybe she wasn't actively seeking out Steve, but she wasn't going to avoid him anymore. Her head was clear enough to face it now. Mostly. 

She did, however, keep her eyes focused on the laptop balanced on her knees while she attempted to write a 'real' report. One of the many boxes in the garage contained her journal from 1946, and while she'd love to just hand it to Phil, he was still irked enough that she thought she'd probably better properly format it and crap. A Captain America comic signed by Peggy Carter was only going to buy her so much grace. 

"I take it you don't mean funny 'ha ha'," she muttered. 

"Not really," Steve said, dropping onto the couch across from her. 

"I don't think the two are related."

"No?" He sounded doubtful with his tone just edging into annoyed. 

"No." She glanced at him and pasted on a smile. "I'm glad you're talking, though. Finally, huh?"

Steve pursed his lips. "Yeah. It's good to have him back."

"I'm happy for you."

"Thanks."

Darcy shifted uncomfortably on the loveseat. It seemed like now was the time for the Conversation. Time to stop putting it off. So, of course, she put it off a little longer. "Did he show you were he wants to put his bar?"

Steve was silent for a second or two. "No, not yet."

"We made an offer Monday. Dad and Pepper and I went down there. It's good. But, he was way over the moon about the place for the bar," she said, trying for conversational, trying to ease her way into this. "Was that always a thing with him? Like, back in the day, did he talk about getting a bar?"

"No," Steve said, still short and clipped with his answers. 

With a sigh, she pressed her lips together, and stared at the screen for another minute before shutting the laptop and sliding it onto the coffee table next to a pair of journals. Her eyes lingered on the pair. Steve deserved an explanation, he deserved the truth, he did not deserve to have her talk him in circles. Peggy said be honest. "Okay, let's do this."

With a sharp nod, Steve sat forward on the couch, his forearms braced across his knees. "If I've pushed, Darcy, it's only because I'm worried. You've been through a lot recently. I want to make sure you're okay."

She smiled at him and said, "I'm grateful. Really."

"If it was me, you'd have been all over me about it."

"That is actually true," she said with a small laugh. 

"So …" Steve glanced up at her from under his lashes. "You talked to Tony? About everything?"

"Everything."

"Did it help?" he asked, his brow furrowing with curiosity.

"It did, actually. It helped both of us, I think," she assured him. Tony actually laughed about his dad, and for a little while Howard wasn't as painful and awkward a subject as he usually was. It felt healing, and she hoped it actually was. 

Steve let out a long breath and offered her a small smile. "Good." 

Chewing on her upper lip, Darcy thought about how best to bring this up and follow Peggy's advice to look him in the eye. Picking up the journals, she stood and circled the coffee table to perch on the end nearest him. It was hard to stand up straight when they were both sitting, but she could adapt, and it wasn't right to leave even the small table between them. 

"The attack," she started after a deep breath. "The device Hydra used was part of a larger machine; the thing Red Skull used to funnel the Tesseract energy into his weapons."

Steve frowned at that. She supposed he wasn't expecting to have that part of his history brought up. "Schmidt."

"The SSR took possession of a lot of that stuff after the war. They kept some of it housed in a secure bunker at Ft. Drum, including that box."

His spine straightened and his eyes narrowed. "They broke into Ft. Drum?"

She gave him a thin smile. "Not recently. Which I will explain. I need you to hear me all the way through, okay?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. 

"I was gone for 8 seconds, but for me it was longer. We haven't entirely figured out what happened. My dad has theories. Jane has theories. Dad and Jane together are driving me nuts with their theories. But the how doesn't matter, I guess," she said with a shrug. 

"What seems to have happened is that the idiots messed with the box in a very particular way, and it caused a containment breach releasing some of the concentrated, stored energy that was left over from the machine's operation. I'm sure they were really hoping for an explosion. And in 1946 a group of Hydra idiots screwed with the box in the exact same way, and the energy release connected with itself at two different points in time. I got caught up in the connection. It's a pretty suck trip, and while once was bad, twice was f'ing brutal. It took about a week for my head to stop ringing."

"1946?" he echoed, bewildered.

Raising her eyes to his, she explained, "In those eight seconds, I spent three and a half months in 1946. I was with Peggy and Howard."

His nostrils flared a little and his expression took on aggravated edge, one that suggested he thought she was lying. "That's not exactly funny, Darcy."

"It's not funny at all," she agreed. "It's the truth, though. At first I didn't believe it. Who would? I thought it was some sick Hydra trick. See, they broke into Pine Camp — Ft. Drum — and into that SSR bunker. They messed with the box as they were stealing it, and that's where I landed. I spent two days in the camp hospital, unconscious, and when I woke up, the SSR sent Peggy and Daniel Sousa to question me. I didn't believe it, until I saw Peggy. Did I ever tell you I met her when I was a kid?"

"No," Steve said in a low, strained voice. 

"She waited for a me for a long, long time," Darcy said, half to herself. Oh Peggy. "Anyway, eventually Howard turned up. I convinced him he was my grandfather. Somehow. Peggy, you won't be shocked to know, was harder to convince." She laughed a little and gave him a conspiratorial smile, but he didn't respond, just stared back at her still bewildered and a little irritated. 

Darcy cleared her throat and nodded; none of that was relevant, not to what she needed to say to him. "I didn't tell them about you, Steve. I left you in the ice."

Bewilderment faded and something that looked horribly like betrayal was growing in his eyes. The muscles on the side of his jaw bunched and twitched. "Why?"

"When I realized where I really was, when I got past the craziness of it, I had to think about everything from there to here. Every step. Every event that I knew about. And I had to think about all the ones I didn't know about. And then I had to make the best decision I could." 

Peggy told her to be honest with him, but also with herself. And that second part was probably the one that was the most difficult. Because, while she hated that she had to hurt him, at no point did she truly doubt the need. Nothing and nobody forced her to make that choice, she made it all on her own. Accepting, really accepting that and not just being defensive about the choice she made, yes, that was difficult. 

"I lived with Peggy for three weeks, and then we both moved in with Howard. I saw her every day. I let her believe you were dead. And for one hundred and eleven days, I woke up every morning and made the same choice all over again." 

She leaned towards him and started to reach for one of his hands, but he pulled back. "I am so very sorry, Steve. I am so truly, deeply sorry that the decision I felt I had to make was the one where I left you. Every single day I tried to think of a way around it. Every single day I tried to think through all the things that might happen if I just said where you were. And every single day I couldn't find a way out."

Steve's jaw had gone rock hard, and he looked away from her. 

Licking her lips, she glanced down at the books still in her hands — records of that insane story, of its reality, when it would be so much easier just to pretend it was all a weird fever dream — and continued. "When I joined SHIELD, Phil and Fury, and even Natasha, they all talked about sacrifice. The need for sacrifice. I thought for a long time that sacrifice meant giving something up, but it turns out it can mean letting something happen, no matter how much you wish things could be different. Because, I left you, and I left Bucky, and I left Howard to be murdered by Hydra. And I lived with those things for each one of those one hundred and eleven days."

Steve rocketed to his feet, the suddenness of the move startling her enough that she almost fell backwards off the coffee table. He took a handful of long steps away then spun around to face her again. 

"I don't understand this," he said through clenched teeth, his breath speeding up with his agitation. 

Darcy set the journals down and stood with him. "I didn't do it to be cruel, Steve. I did it because it was the kindest thing I could think to do."

His face darkened and his voice rose, "How the hell is that kind?"

"Because of all the things I couldn't know and all the things I did know. It wasn't just about you. It was about Bucky, too, and Howard, and my dad," she tried to explain. "And, I thought today needed you more."

"That wasn't your decision to make," he shot back. "That was _mine_."

"And you made that decision when you put the bomber in the ocean," she pointed out gently. "How do I have the right to change this present? That wasn't my decision to make, either. I could only do the best I could to preserve what I knew."

"What you knew," he repeated with a heated growl. And there was Captain America, and boy, he was pissed. "Does Bucky know you left him with Hydra?"

That sent a sharp, prickling wash of pain over her skin. Bucky might have forgiven her, but it still made her sick to think that she couldn't spare him any of that. For some idiotic reason, she wasn't expecting him to bring up Bucky. But that was dumb; of course he would. Of course that ate at him, too. His best friend in Hydra's hands while he slept in the ice. 

"Does he know?" Steve demanded again, when she didn't respond. 

"I know you're upset, Steve—"

"You're damned right I am."

"But, that's between me and Bucky," she continued past his outburst.

He ran a hand over his hair and gaped at her. "I can't believe you."

"I can't believe you'd think I'd want to leave either of you," she said wearily. His pain hurt, but so did that. Could he think she was so cold-blooded or callous that it wouldn't bother her to leave them? "I got a letter from Howard a few days ago. I couldn't get through it all. Bucky read it."

"Do you have _any_ idea what they did to him?"

"Come on, Steve," she sighed. "You know that I do. Tell me you don't believe I didn't think about that every day. Tell me you don't think I didn't hate that."

"I could have saved him before …" he trailed off and looked ill, his jaw starting to quake. 

"And he could have killed you," Darcy pointed out, trying to give him a taste, a hint of the scope of the problem she wrangled with day by day in 1946. "He could have killed Peggy. He could have killed Howard before Tony was even born. And then what? I didn't know. I couldn't know. Can you understand?" 

"You just … just left him," Steve muttered quietly. He looked shocked and horribly betrayed. "Left _us_."

Her voice cracked and quavered when she spoke, "I know what I took from you, but you were safe, Steve. You were safe and asleep. And that was the best I could do."

"You have no _idea_ what you took," he told her, his voice shaking, almost cracking, and his eyes too shiny for her to meet them anymore. "You have no idea," he trailed off and took a deep, stuttering breath. 

"I went to see Peggy last week. She's my friend, Steve. Two weeks before that I was at a Christmas party with her in 1946. And she was laughing at Howard. And we were drinking wine and telling stories and we were …" Darcy bit her lip. "And then all those decades vanished in 8 seconds. She kept my secrets for so many years."

A slow pallor washed down over his cheeks. "Did she know?"

"No, Steve. God, no," she hurried to assure him. He didn't need to believe he was twice betrayed. "She didn't know you were alive. But, she kept other secrets. We had a run in with the Winter Soldier. I couldn't … I couldn't save him." 

Darcy rolled her head on her shoulders, the queasy dread of that night twisting in her stomach again, and dropped her eyes to the floor. "Peggy knew about Bucky, and she looked for him. All that time she looked for him, and she kept his name out of the files. He was just the Winter Soldier. She kept Bucky as safe as she could, so he could come home one day. I promised her he'd come home one day." 

Steve ran the back of one hand across his mouth and shook his head. "I need to think about this." 

"Sure," Darcy said, swallowing heavily but trying to smile her understanding. "It's a lot."

"A lot. Yeah, it sure is," he choked on a grim laugh. "I don't know what to say, Darcy. I need time."

Bending down, she picked up the two journals again and turned them in her hands. "Would it help to read Peggy's report?"

"She wrote a report?"

"Of course she did. She's Peggy Carter." Darcy held the journals out to him. "The other one is mine. I've already scanned them both, so you can have them. I'm working on my report for Phil now. A real one."

Steve's jaw started to tremble again and his chin dimpled as he tried to keep hold of an insane swirl of emotions. God, she hated she had to do that to him. After a moment's hesitation, he plucked the journals from her hand, then met her eyes briefly and nodded once before he turned and walked out. 

Darcy threw herself back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. While she felt lighter, having finally faced a confrontation she'd tormented herself with for months, she also felt sick to her stomach. She reached for her phone.

Bucky picked up on the third ring. "Hey, doll. What's up?"

"I told him," she said quietly, laying back on the couch and closing her eyes. 

"How'd it go?"

"I … uh." Rubbing at her forehead, she grimaced. "I think I made Captain America cry."

"You had to tell him," Bucky said firmly. He'd already had one round of her guilt, it sounded like he was determined to nip a second in the bud.

"I know, I know," she admitted. "And it was good to get it out there. But, still. I never wanted to hurt him, but I keep doing it."

"No, you don't," he said with a sigh. 

"I really kind of do." Darcy drew in a long breath and rubbed her nose. "I think he could probably use some time with you now."

Bucky was silent for a moment. "Okay. Does he have a fancy phone like yours I can track?"

"He's got an iPhone. Just to annoy my dad, I'm pretty sure. But, you _can_ call him, you know. Or, you do have Jarvis." 

Darcy moved the receiver away from her mouth and called out. "Jarvis, can you find Steve for Bucky if he needs to? Cap needs a friend right now." Steve was very clear about not wanting to be tracked by his phone. For emergencies only. This might not be a big emergency, but it was a mission of compassion. 

Jarvis accepted that implied reasoning and said, "Of course. I'll send the information to your phone, Sergeant."

"Thanks," Bucky muttered. He hadn't really got the hang of talking to Jarvis.

"I gave him my report. And Peggy's," Darcy continued. "Maybe give him an hour to read them then call?"

"I've got him, Darce," he said patiently. 

Despite the heavy air still lingering in the room, she found herself smiling. "You're a real stand-up guy, you know that, Barnes?"

"Sure," he said with an amused snort. "Hey, can I ask a question?"

"Go for it."

"When you ran into me in 1946, what were you wearing?"

Darcy frowned and wondered if maybe he was remembering, or trying to. Maybe he shouldn't? Well, except he could take comfort in knowing he didn't seriously hurt anybody on that mission, at least. "Some black tactical jumpsuit thing. Why?"

"Good," he muttered. "I've been thinking it was a crying shame I don't remember 1946, because I've been picturing you dolled up like Rosalind Russel. I'd hate to miss that."

Clapping her hand over her mouth, Darcy laughed until she couldn't breath. "Are you kidding me?" she forced past her stupid breathless chortling. 

"No," he said with a laugh of his own. "I'll talk to you later, Darce." 

She chuckled for a few more minutes, she would not admit it was a giggle. No way, no how. But, she did take the time to let the day wash over her, and even with everything with Steve, the dopey smile still pulled at her lips. Oh, God, she probably looked like an idiot.

It had been a long time since she'd really fallen for a guy. A _really_ long time. Not since freshman year in college when she started seeing Jesse Mazur. She and Jesse dated almost a year; it was as serious a relationship as you could have when you were nineteen and not entirely serious. That kind of relationship where it was just nice to have somebody and they'd had fun. Until Tony was kidnapped and Darcy's grief and fear crippled her to such a degree that she shut everything and everybody out. 

Those three months were such a weird, hazy spot in her memory. Fear was sharp in her mind, but everything else was shrouded in gauze, leaving only vague impressions. Even the day Jesse broke up with her — after a Halloween party she'd been cajoled into attending, but she'd been as much a ghost as any specter stirring that evening — was only a brief blip in that haze, and all she felt afterwards was a sense of relief. Like the end of the relationship was one less burden on her shoulders. 

Wincing at the memory of Jesse, she admitted that that was not a time in her life when she was her best self. Still, somehow she didn't think she'd feel anything like relief if Bucky bailed. But, Bucky wasn't Jesse, and she wasn't nineteen anymore. Hard to tell, though, because she still couldn't make the stupid grin on her face go away. Steve told her once that Bucky was good at pulling him out of a funk. It seemed, despite the heavier, darker weight to him now, he hadn't lost that.

After allowing herself another minute to smile like a moron, she forced her thoughts back to her report. Which turned out to be a really freaking good buzzkill. Sighing, she sat up and picked up the computer again. 

Which is when the man perched above the room finally spoke up. "1946?"

Startled, her whole body jerked, and with flailing arms, she only just managed to catch the laptop before it flew off her knees. Hugging it to her chest, she glared up at the catwalk that circled the common room. "Christ, Barton. What the hell?"

"I thought you knew I was here," he said from his perch, his legs dangling over the edge of the platform, a bottle of beer next to him. 

"Honestly, had no idea," she admitted, steadying her breathing. "I would have spared you, if I'd known."

"I wondered why," he muttered thoughtfully and drained his beer.

She squinted up at a him. "What are you doing up there?"

"Just watching the city."

"Is it looking shifty?"

He chucked and stood up. "Always."

"Were you up there before I got here?" That would be super embarrassing. He might not be her SO anymore, but she probably should have checked if there were other people around. Like, that was Day One of training — being mindful of your surroundings. 

"No," he said with a shrug. "I came in about an hour ago. You were saying mean things to your computer; it seemed personal. I didn't want to interrupt." He crossed the catwalk and clambered down the stairs. Pausing at the bar, he tossed her a look over his shoulder, "You want a beer? I think you could probably use one." Clint didn't wait for her response before grabbing two more. 

Darcy sighed and shoved the computer back on the coffee table. Phil would have to wait a little longer. "How lucky are _you_ that you're always around when I argue with Steve?"

"The luckiest," Clint said, popping the caps off on the counter. "Truthfully, I didn't really want to overhear that, but also didn't want to interrupt _that_ , either." He walked over to drop onto the couch next to her and handed her a beer. "That was crazy awkward, though. Like it went bad before I could move. And then, I was just stuck all 'shit, what do I do?' Wave? Say 'hey guys?'. I couldn't sneak out, you'd have seen me on the stairs." He paused and scratched at his chin. "I could have rappelled down a different part of the catwalk, I guess. I don't know. _Crazy_ awkward."

"I'm sorry," Darcy said, brushing back her hair and leaning back against the cushions, cradling the bottle. 

"Yeah, don't worry about it." He brushed off her apology and tipped the neck of his bottle towards her, waiting until she clinked it back with her own. "You want to talk about it?"

She groaned and took a sip of her beer. "I'm talked out."

"You? Talked out?" He opened his eyes wide in faux shock. "Damn. That's it, the world's ending. Better kiss our asses good-bye."

"Shut up," she muttered, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Speaking of people who were good at pulling her out of a funk.

He was quiet for a moment, taking another pull off his bottle, before finally speaking, "1946."

Darcy puffed up her cheeks and blew out a tired breath. She might be talked out, but it looked like Clint wasn't. "1946. You want to read the reports?"

"Sure," Clint said with a shrug, like he didn't really care one way or the other. "Coulson's fried, but that's just because he's worried."

Darcy winced. "You talked to him, too?"

"He's been on the horn with all of us. He even called Thor." 

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up. That seemed unexpected. Though, they liked each other so she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. "Thor hasn't said anything to me."

"I guess he didn't like the request," Clint said with a shrug. "He rumbled about it; like, that thunderstorm last week? Totally Thor. Something about keeping confidences and respecting you. I don't know." 

"Huh."

"No clue." Clint took a long pull of his beer and then set the bottle on his knee, turning it slowly in his long fingers. "You hung out with Peggy Carter."

"I did."

"You talk about me at all?"

Darcy snorted a laugh and nudged his thigh with her knee. "It's all about you, Barton."

"I'm serious." And he was. Her laugh faded and she considered him. "Did you?"

Tilting her head, studying him, she told him, "I didn't give last names or anything, but sure, I talked about you. I talked about Rico. Thor."

"Natasha?"

"Yeah," Darcy admitted. "I learned about the program. The one Natasha was put in when she was a kid."

"The Red Room," Clint said with a clipped nod. 

"Is that what it was called?" Darcy grimaced. That sounded benign, yet _horrible_. "That part I didn't know. The Howling Commandos ran into one of their training sites earlier in the year. And there was an assassin Peggy'd tangled with a few times. Dottie Underwood."

"I've heard of her," he said, but his tone was bland, not giving anything away. 

"Peggy and I figured it out at the same time, I guess. It was funny. Howard wanted to test the mansion's security, so we played a little infiltration game. You'd be proud of me, I totally kicked Commando ass. I killed Morita, Dernier, Howard, and Jarvis. And totally dodged Peggy and Dugan."

He gave her a small smile, but there was something going on behind his eyes. "Good work, trainee." 

"Dugan said I reminded him of a little girl at the training site, then Underwood came up. I put it together. And I'd mentioned how one of my SOs was an assassin, so Peggy had all the pieces, too." She sighed and dropped her head to the back of the couch. "I tried not to change anything, you know. But, I needed to talk to somebody."

"Hey, you couldn't do better than Peggy Carter," Clint said with a pat on her shoulder. "I know Peggy."

"I figured," Darcy murmured. "I went to see her last week."

"I heard. I heard it _all_ ," he said, tossing her a smirk. He still looked thoughtful, but unlike Steve, he didn't look even sort of traumatized. Which was really nice. 

"She wants you to go see her."

Clint pressed his lips tightly together and drummed his fingers on his bottle, and then he laughed. "God, I bet she does. Peggy Carter, man."

"Yeah, okay, so what is that about?" Darcy demanded. In the haze of emotional exhaustion, she'd forgotten about Peggy's instruction to tell Clint. 

"Sure, sure, but first I need you to stand up." He stood himself and put his beer bottle down, then he waved for her to do the same. 

"Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. Clint huffed and pulled the bottle out of her hand and set it down next to his. Then he reached for her arms, tugging her to stand. "Clint," she said his name with a low, warning growl. 

"Shut up, I have to hug you." And he did, wrapping her in a tight bear hug before she could do more than squawk in surprise. 

"Okay, why are we hugging?" Darcy asked into his shirt, he was really holding on, it was a little tough to breathe, but she put her arms around him and patted his back.

"Because you're awesome," he mumbled. 

"That's true, but that's true every day of the week," Darcy muttered, trying to get some space in the crushing hug. She appreciated the hug, Clint was great with hugging, but he was kind of clinging now, and that was a little weird. "Why today?"

"Because seventeen years ago next month I joined SHIELD."

Which was a random bit of nothing, a weird non-answer. It sure as hell didn't explain the sloth-like grip he had on her. "Um, happy anniversary?"

"Yeah, thanks."

The hug was moving past weird into actually concerning. Darcy gave him a light poke in the side. "You're really old."

He laughed and finally let go of her. "Smart ass. _You_ are my favorite smart ass ever."

"Sure, thanks." 

Clint put his hands on her shoulders and stared at her, a smile growing on his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. His expression was one of fondness and delight. 

"Seventeen years ago, I met Peggy Carter." He took a deep breath and hugged her again, but he didn't cling so much this time. When he let her go he picked up their beers, handed her hers, then clinked them together again. 

"You know I was recruited by Coulson," he said and she nodded. She did know that. It was kind of an adorable point of pride and/or exasperation for both of them. "But on the day I signed my SHIELD paperwork, I signed because of Peggy Carter. She came all the way out to Iowa and spent the day with me, just talking. I asked her why me, why did they want me? I was a screw up, I was in jail, on the hook for a whole shit ton of stupid stuff. And she said," he paused and took a breath, his smile growing even more broad. "She said she'd seen my heart, and I'd know the answer to 'why' in seventeen years." 

Darcy stared back at him for a long moment, letting that story settle in her head, letting herself play through it. And then she huffed. Damn it, Peggy. Darcy had been very, very particular about her not changing anything. But, when she looked at Clint she couldn't be irritated; the smile on his face was amazing. She'd never seen anything quite like that mix of wonder and joy. 

"Oh," was all she could think to say. 

His expression softened and he cupped her face in his rough, archer's hands. "You recommended me to SHIELD before there was even a SHIELD."

"Before you were born, even," Darcy pointed out, her head spinning with this strange line of causality she hadn't expected. 

Clint drew her into another hug. "Thank you, Darce. You don't know what you did for me," he murmured into her hair. 

"You're welcome." She patted his back again. 

He let her go once more and drained his beer in one long swallow. "My trainee recruited me. How awesome is that? I mean and how awesome am I? Like, I know you told Peggy I was awesome. You must have. Because she waited fifty-something years to meet me. Who does that, right? You only do that for awesome people."

"Lies," Darcy said with a sniff, but she was sure she hadn't managed to hide her amusement. "I think I mostly told her you were a disaster."

He let out a guffaw, snatched her beer from her, and then grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the door. "Jerk."

"Totally. Where are you dragging me?"

"I'm starving. Tacos?" He pointed a finger gun at her and gave her an enticing eyebrow waggle. "Tacos, right?"

Darcy let herself be pulled along but sighed. "Are tacos the antidote to weird time paradoxes?"

"They are the antidote to almost everything," he told her with certainty. "And the margaritas take care of anything else."

With a smirk, she reclaimed her hand, but tucked her arm into his. "Yeah, okay, that'll do it." 

He stopped abruptly at the door and slapped a hand on his head. "Shit. I owe Peggy dinner. And whiskey."

"She's not allowed to have whiskey," Darcy pointed out. "Like the people at the nursing home had that on their list. Near the top of the list."

"Screw them," Clint shrugged and started them walking again. "She's 94, what're they going to do? Besides, what the hell's the point of getting to 94 if you can't do what you want? If I have to smuggle it in, I'll smuggle it in."

He had a good point. "Why do you owe her whiskey, anyway?"

"Okay, so, never make a bet with that woman. She's a shark." Clint pointed a finger at her face and shook his head. "Preying on innocent teenagers, that's what she was doing."

With a skeptical snort, Darcy rolled her eyes. "For whiskey?"

"Yes! For free whiskey." Clint moved his pointing finger to jab at the ceiling. "She _knew_ I'd never guess I'd have a trainee who went back in time and told her how amazing I was and who, clearly, begged her to recruit me as soon as I was old enough."

"I didn't beg," Darcy protested, but she was laughing again. "I didn't do anything like that. You are high, Barton."

"Whatever." He said, nudging her into the elevator. "No, okay, so there I am, sitting in the county jail, growling at Coulson because I was nineteen and a moron, right? Then Phil says somebody wants to meet me. They drag me out and there's this old woman, looking at me like I'm yesterday's catch. She tells them to put me in her car, and, she's all proper and British, so I'm thinking she's going to take me to a warehouse or something to drink tea and watch while her driver cuts me to pieces."

Darcy leaned against the elevator wall, laughing too hard to stand up straight. "So you're saying you thought she was a Bond villain?"

"I'd considered the possibility." 

"You're right, you were a moron."

"I'm saying." Clint threw an arm around her shoulders. "Joking aside, Steve will come around. He'll see what you had to do. And, if he doesn't, I'll shove an arrow up his ass."

She gave him a small, grateful smile. Hopefully things wouldn't come to arrow shoving, but it was nice of him to say. "Thanks, Barton."

"No problem. Nobody puts Strike Team Delta's baby agent in a corner," he said with a decisive nod of his chin. 

With a deep breath and a shrug of her shoulders, she was ready to put aside the heavy stuff for some happier stories. "So, tell me about this bet you had with Peggy."

"A shark," Clint growled darkly. "The woman is a shark." 

"She's been a spy longer than both of us have been alive put together," Darcy said. 

"Well, I know that _now_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was so late. It was a long week.

> _12 October 1946_
> 
> _None of us were horribly murdered yesterday. Which is about the best I can say._
> 
> _Darcy's mood has grown darker over the week, a curiously volatile depression, and concerning enough that, yesterday, I decided to stay at home in the morning to review my files. And yet, despite an intent to keep an eye on her, I was unaware she left the building after breakfast. I'm not used to a Stark being quite so subtle. Of course, she is a Stark, and her morning of freedom ended as well as one might expect._
> 
> _I cannot possibly imagine what she thought she might do with that man had she caught him._

Steve pursed his lips and ran a finger over the words on the page. Peggy's hand, her observations across the years. Her observations of Darcy, out of time, desperate, gloomy, isolated. That was so unlike the Darcy he knew it gnawed at him. He saw hints of her humor in Peggy's words, he saw her resilience, too, but he also saw her pain. 

He thumbed to the next page, to an event that sent a cold chill rolling across his skin each time he read it. But he kept going over it, re-reading it, picturing the scene, the logistics of the attempt. Where the response went right and where it could have gone so horribly wrong. Deadly wrong when he was too far away to do a damned thing.

> _\--they were fired upon by an unknown sniper. Agents Berman and Hampton sustained serious injuries, though Hampton's are not life-threatening. Daniel and Darcy escaped the incident with only minor injuries, most of those the result of the car crash._
> 
> _When word made it to the station, I thought Howard might, quite literally, climb the walls. It took Mr. Jarvis's assistance to keep his feet on the ground until he could see for himself that Darcy was not badly harmed. For his part, Chief Thompson looked like he got hit in the head with a brick. I don't suppose Jack ever believed our story of a leak in the SSR, but this was too bold a move to be coincidence._
> 
> _Howard and I suspect Hydra were trying to separate Darcy from us so they could question her themselves. I also suspect they would have been in for quite an unpleasant shock had they captured her. Assuming, of course, they managed to hold her at all. I'm learning that's not something easily done._

Steve bowed his head over the journal and closed his eyes for a moment. October 11th, 1946 was a hell of a day, sounded like. He'd read the whole journal twice and Darcy's journal once. Darcy's seemed more like her; along with her impatience and exasperation at the situation, there were some dryly humorous observations on the Commandos, and sharp commentary on a few hot arguments with Howard. Steve smiled a little; he could see that. Darcy and Howard arguing over anything and everything and enjoying every second of it. 

Thinking of Howard brought his mind back around to another person who'd been back there, too. That unknown sniper. Was it Bucky? Darcy didn't make a guess in her report of the incident, but she must have thought about it. Peggy, who figured out Bucky survived into the future, didn't know until later about the Winter Soldier. She suspected a woman named Dottie Underwood, who'd apparently done something similar to kidnap Howard. 

Did Peggy revise her opinion on the shooter after learning abut the Winter Soldier? She didn't say, either. In fact, at no point in the journal did she name Bucky as the Winter Soldier. He supposed Peggy couldn't be absolutely certain that the journal wouldn't be discovered before she could give it back to Darcy; and so, even here, in a private record, she'd done her best to keep him safe. 

Darcy wasn't as circumspect in her report. She wrote about wondering if Hydra strengthened their controls on Bucky after she stopped him with his name. She wondered if that was the aversion they programmed into him; the one that made it difficult for him to be around Steve. She wondered if it was her fault he never broke away sooner. 

Steve felt the burn of tears and took a sharp breath in through his nose, trying to keep them at bay. They both worked so hard to keep everybody safe. Darcy and Peggy. God, they had to have been an amazing team. No wonder Hydra had to stay hidden for so long. Darcy back in the past alerted Howard and Peggy to Hydra's continued presence, and they formed SHIELD as a response. Even with the agency compromised, it took decades before Hydra could move.

> _The Winter Soldier lingers between us. We're at loggerheads on the subject, and I can honestly say I'm not sure how to address the problem. Darcy has warned me against seeking him out, but how can I let him move unchallenged? Ideally, of course, I would bring him in. Separate him from Hydra. That would be my preferred method of neutralizing that threat. Darcy seems to think that attempt would be dangerous and futile._
> 
> _I know she fears for her future, but I can only operate within the bounds of the present — whenever that may be — and make the best decisions I can with the knowledge I have. Is that not the crux of her own challenge today?_
> 
> _Allowing a Hydra assassin to run free is not the best decision, no matter his origin. But, I am not so hard-hearted as to fail to acknowledge what's at stake for her. It's a subject on which we must strike some balance. I only wish I knew how to find it._

Steve closed the journal and sat back on the chair, looking up at the glass ceiling of the atrium. He didn't know what sort of deal they struck, but Darcy said Peggy looked for Bucky for all those years. So, maybe Peggy won that battle of wills. Not a surprise. Though, Darcy was right, too. Peggy couldn't save him. 

Maybe, even if Darcy told Howard and Peggy where he was, his attempts to find Bucky would have been just as futile. And then where would they be when Hydra did make their move? Maybe they wait until later, until there's nobody to oppose them at all. Until Steve was too old, or even after he died, and there'd be nobody to break their hold on Bucky. And he'd have no chance to come home ever. 

Closing his eyes, he felt the rawness of his present, the uncertainty of all the years he missed, and knew what Darcy struggled with. 

A rustle of clothes nearby drew his attention, and then he felt somebody sit on the chair next to his. Steve tipped his head down, ready to paste on a smile and shake a hand, or sign an autograph, or hold a kid for a picture. But what he saw brought a real smile to his face. Bucky leaning back, his legs kicked out in front of him, his cap tugged low, watching Steve out of the corner of his eyes. Bucky, who was as lost as he was for all that time. Alone in the world until last year. Until Steve was there to try and break that control. 

_"You were safe, Steve. You were safe and asleep,"_ Darcy said. She had to try and keep what she could intact, because she couldn't know if Steve or Peggy might have saved Bucky in those missing decades, but she _knew_ they broke him free in 2014. She _knew_ there'd be somebody there for him, to help him come home. And if she changed things, she couldn't know when Hydra would make a move, but she _knew_ there would be people to stand against them today. 

God, Darcy. He was so damned sorry for what she had to carry. And so damned sorry he was too hurt and too shocked to really take in the whole story when she told him. Hell, he didn't even remember half of what she said; when she said she left him, it was like he got punched right through the chest. The pain of everything he lost, all those possibilities that never could be realities buzzed in his head, drowning out anything else. 

He'd been desperate to escape, desperate to get away to someplace quiet and think. Pick at those old wounds, pick at the still fresh ones, pick at every place that hurt, and every bit of knowledge that he was a man who lost everything. It wasn't her fault. He'd owe her an apology. Or a few. 

She just had a way of finding those points that made him most vulnerable, the sore spots, and jabbing right at them. Though, never intentionally. Steve supposed, stubborn as they both were, being who they both were, and that early easy, open friendship exposed those sore spots to each other. He'd taken a few swipes at hers, after all. Boy, he didn't only owe her an apology, he owed Darcy a free swing at him. 

He wasn't sure what he said to her, he was reeling and shoved back, and he could only hope he wasn't too much of an ass. But, whatever he'd said, if Bucky was here that meant she called him. And, though he'd been avoiding Steve for a year, here he was. 

Oh God, he'd missed Bucky. His best friend, his family. Steve thought he lost him forever, and then somehow, miraculously here he was. Because Darcy and Peggy did what they could to protect him. To protect them both, until they could sit right here, right now. 

"I don't remember this place being so big," Bucky said mildly, jerking his chin at the Petrie Sculpture Court. 

"I don't remember you ever voluntarily coming here," Steve replied, trying to keep his voice light and even. This was all so overwhelming. This whole crazy spin of time and change and every moment and event that led to them both sitting on a quiet end of the Met. But the absolute relief of having Bucky next to him, even in the middle of that turbulent, chaotic crash of emotion, was so profound Steve had to blink a few times to clear his eyes. 

"I like museums," Bucky grumbled. 

"Art museums?"

His friend made a slightly disgusted face, tipped his head to one side, and shrugged. "Maybe not. Though, I did have one pretty good date that started here. Uh, Roxie?"

"Ruby," Steve corrected with a laugh. "Ruby Horowitz."

"That's right. Her pop worked down at the docks, right? Had arms bigger than yours."

"And you had a smart mouth."

" _You_ had a smart mouth."

"I wasn't the one who made a comment about her mom's cabbage rolls."

"They must have been lousy." Bucky smiled and shot him a look. "Trust you to sit on the chair in front of the naked lady."

Steve glanced at the sculpture, a Bernini, and shook his head. "It's art, Buck."

"Sure is," he agreed with a dry chuckle.

Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, Steve dipped his head down and asked, "Did Darcy send you?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "She said she told you about 1946 and that you might need a friend. Was she right?"

"Isn't she always?"

Bucky snorted a laugh. "No. She ever tell you about Minnesota?" 

Steve gave him a weak smile. "I heard about it from Maria Hill." 

And there was another sore spot, wrapped in a tangle of gratitude and jealousy. For a year Bucky avoided him, and for a year Darcy got to have him. They worked together, and planned out SHIELD's future together, and geez, even just ate lunch together. And Steve found himself on the outside of his two friends. 

It wasn't a lie when he told Darcy that he was glad it was her. If it couldn't be him, there was nobody else he trusted with Bucky more than her. Of anybody she'd know how to handle him, how to break through, how to give him space and how to be there when he needed. She was steadfast. But he couldn't pretend it didn't sting that Bucky didn't choose him. 

With a sigh, Steve rubbed at his jaw and tapped the journal on his knee. Except, it didn't seem like Bucky avoiding him was much of a choice. That aversion Darcy mentioned. Something Hydra did to Bucky to separate him even further from his life. Another way they hurt him. 

His temper rose and he pressed his lips firmly together. 

"Let's get out of here," Bucky said and drew his legs in to stand. 

"Sure," Steve muttered, shoving away his anger for the moment. There'd be time for that later, and Bucky was there with him now. Safe and free. 

On the way to the door Steve was stopped by a Girl Scout troop. Bucky melted back into the walls while Steve took pictures and signed autographs. And wasn't that a damned shame? Bucky should be right next to him. Bucky should be getting pats on the back and little girls squealing his name. Bucky … Bucky who'd been as much a hero as he ever was. Maybe more so. Steve wore the bright red, white, and blue, but Bucky was down in the mud fighting without the serum or the accolades. But, then he fell off a train and into Hydra's darkness. He still lived in those shadows; maybe he always would. 

When Steve pointed the girls to his favorite spots in the museum, and waved them off with a bright smile, he found Bucky lingering near the doors. They stepped out into the soupy summer day. 

"Where do you want to go?" Steve asked.

"I don't know. There's just a lot of people here," he admitted with a shrug, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

"That still hard?"

"Depends on where I am," he said, his eyes scanning the long run of broad steps up to the museum and all the people out on them. 

"Park?"

"Nah, too hot."

"The Winter Soldier doesn't like the summer anymore?" Steve joked, then had to hide a wince as he realized maybe joking about the Winter Soldier wasn't the best idea. He wasn't sure if that was funny or not. Though, Bucky had spent almost a year with Darcy, so the chances were good he'd heard all the bad Winter Soldier jokes. She was a lot like Tony in that way. She'd never called him Capsicle, at least, but probably only because she bit her tongue to keep it in. 

Bucky gave him a flat, unimpressed look. "Tell me this isn't hot."

"It's not too bad," Steve said rolling his shoulders, and tilting his face up towards the sun. Sometimes, after his long nap in the ice, Steve still felt the chill in his bones, like a knot of that ice still lingered deep inside. He didn't mind the heat so much anymore. 

"Crazy," Bucky muttered. 

"Hey, how about your bar?" Steve suggested suddenly. "Darcy said you got a place."

Bucky squinted out into the street and was silent for a long moment before he shrugged again. "Nah. Isn't much now."

"I'd like to know what you guys are up to," he said, forcing a crooked smile and taking a deep breath. It was time to shake off the funk and get back to work. Focusing on the Avengers, on SHIELD — work was always steadying. He knew he buried himself in it too much — he heard about it often enough from Natasha — but for the last few years it was the thing that got him through each day. Without it, he didn't know what he'd become. 

"I know another bar not far. Decent place," Bucky suggested and led him down the steps and into the Met's parking garage to a bland, dark blue sedan. 

"SHIELD," he said with a shrug as they climbed in. "I didn't ask for it."

"Comes with having a SHIELD agent partner, I guess," Steve said with a little smile. 

"Never saw that coming," Bucky said with considering tilt of his chin. 

"That's kind of Darcy's MO, I think." Steve sat back in the seat, scowling at Bucky when he turned up the air conditioner. "It's not that hot."

"Says you." Bucky pulled them into afternoon traffic and he huffed a low laugh. "I remember when you used to turn bright red by the end of May and it didn't go away until September."

Steve couldn't help the grin that pulled at his lips. Bucky remembered, Bucky was still there. After a year, his friend was still there, and back with him. The aching loneliness he'd shouldered since he woke lifted a little. "I remember your mom having to put you in vinegar baths 'cause you'd get yourself steamed like a lobster."

"God, the smell." Bucky grimaced. 

With a laugh, Steve propped his elbow on the car door and looked out the window as Bucky drove them through the city. "How do you like SHIELD?"

"Don't know. I'm still surprised they didn't arrest me when they had the chance," Bucky said. "Estonia was the first time they got close to me. Well, since DC." He shot Steve a quick look full of grief and regret. 

"That wasn't you, Bucky," Steve told him firmly. 

"Yeah. I still did it, though." He shifted in his seat and refocused on driving. He was quiet for a few blocks, while Steve tried to think of something to say. This was his best friend in the world, and somehow he couldn't think of a damned thing to say. 

Bucky spoke first, his tone quiet, almost musing on the subject, "Darce has more pull than she realizes. She always said she was a low-level agent, but hell, low-level agents don't tell the Director what to do and get away with it, you know? Coulson's people patched me up and let me go. I know she told him to stay hands-off."

"She and Coulson have known each other for a while now," Steve said. "They trust each other."

Bucky snorted softly. "She's never been in a position where the chain of command was really something she had to worry about. She doesn't know what that's really like. Nobody was going to step too hard on Stark's kid. I don't think she thinks about it like that. She doesn't like the idea anybody'd treat her different because of her pops, but she could get away with murder. I'd worry it'd bite her in the ass, but she's so damned stubborn and ready to dust up with anybody." His eyes slid over to Steve and he smiled. "Reminds me of somebody else."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. "Somebody's gotta be, or they run all over you."

"Yeah, well, anyway. I don't think too much about SHIELD. Except …" Bucky trailed off and blew out a long breath. "I made a goddamned mess, Steve. Doesn't matter it was Hydra; it was by my hands. I can't undo any of that. But, I can help stop somebody else from doing the same." 

Steve reached out and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "They're lucky to have you, Buck."

"I dunno," Bucky muttered and went silent again. He didn't speak again beyond a few short replies to Steve's comments about the changes in the city, and the changes in the world. Every brief response or grunt, and every time he didn't reply at all, twisted at Steve. It felt like that chasm, that one Bucky fell into, was still between them. Steve hated it. He hated the reminder that this wasn't something he could fix. 

It was a short drive, at least, and fifteen minutes later Bucky pulled them onto a side street and parked. They got out and Steve glanced around the neighborhood. Older, not too bad, blue-collar or lower middle-class. It looked like it'd been through some rough times, a few broken buildings, but there was scaffolding up. The scars of the Chitauri battle still visible, but rebuilding continued. 

He stared down the street, his mental map of the city placing him at the edge of Hell's Kitchen. "Huh. There's a pretty good gym around here," he said. 

"Yeah?"

"Fogwell's."

Bucky grunted and shrugged. "Never been. I don't live far." He pulled open the door to the pub on the corner and waved Steve to follow him. 

The pub was dark and cool, with a long bar in the middle and a large black man standing behind it, wiping down glasses. He watched them enter and nodded to Bucky. 

"Gentlemen. What can I get you?"

"Lager. Steve?"

"Same, thanks."

"Have a seat. I'll bring 'em round," the man said with a smile.

Bucky led Steve to a booth near the back and slid in with a sigh. Steve sat across from him and tapped a finger on the scarred wood of the table. 

"You come here a lot?"

Bucky glanced around the place, empty but for them, but it was early yet. "Not really. A couple times."

Bucky still didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, and Steve felt his frustration growing. He tamped it down. "What're you going to do with your bar? Have you got plans?"

"We only got the place a couple days ago," Bucky said, then glanced up when the barkeep came by with their drinks.

"You're opening a bar?" the man asked with narrowed eyes. 

"In Brooklyn," Bucky told him with a smirk. "Not gonna compete with you."

The man chuckled and set down their beers. "Glad to hear it." He placed a bowl of pretzels then tucked the tray under his arm and looked down at Steve. He hesitated a moment before sticking out a hand. "Nice to have you, Cap."

Steve laughed a little and shook his hand. "Thanks. Call me Steve. This is—"

"James," Bucky broke in.

"Yeah, I've seen you around a few times. I'm Luke," he said introducing himself. "Give me a shout if you need anything else." 

When Luke left, Steve glanced at Bucky who was staring at his glass. 

"So, SHIELD," Steve said, attempting to start a conversation.

"Do you really want to talk about SHIELD?"

"I want to talk about whatever you want to. I don't know where to start," Steve admitted, his throat growing uncomfortably tight. He took a long sip of his beer, letting the cool liquid work away the knot. 

Bucky wrapped a hand around his glass and straightened his back. "Okay. How are you?"

"Okay."

"Bullshit," Bucky snorted and shook his head. "Darcy thinks she left you. Tell me you didn't let her keep thinking that."

"I don't know," Steve murmured. "Maybe. I don't remember what I said to her. I just had to get out. She sucker-punched me. What did she tell you?"

"Nothing much. Just that she was sorry she hurt you."

"Ah, Darce," Steve sighed and ran a hand over his forehead. "I read her report. Have you?"

"No," Bucky shook his head and turned his glass on the table, a contemplative twirl in his fingers. "She wanted to talk to her pops first. I read Howard's letter, though."

"She said she couldn't get through it."

"No. I found her moping over it." Bucky heaved a sigh and looked up at Steve, meeting his eyes squarely for the first time. "She had to say good-bye to everybody, you know. And she had to leave us. She _had_ to."

"I know," Steve muttered. "I get it. I read Peggy's, too. I can see it all, you know? I've known Darcy long enough, I can see what she was putting herself through." Hell. A hell she thought was all her making, when not one bit of it was on her. 

They'd all made their choices and all Darcy could do was try to respect and preserve the outcome. Maybe he could have lived a good long life with Peggy, but maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he would have been in SHIELD, or maybe Hydra would have killed him long before. Maybe he saved Bucky, or maybe nobody did. There were no more answers in the past, and not much to be found in all the 'could have been's, there was only today and what was. 

"Yeah."

Steve pulled the journals out of his pocket and slid them across to Bucky. "You oughta read 'em."

"I'll wait for Darce—"

"You oughta read them, Buck," Steve said again, pressing. "They both talk about you. I don't know what's going on with you and Darcy; it's none of my business, if you don't want to tell me. But Peggy figured out you were her partner. You should know why."

"I can guess," Bucky mumbled and took a long drink of his beer. "Darcy said Dugan and those guys remembered me, I bet she got all quiet. Darcy never gets quiet."

"Yeah, that's about right," Steve said, sliding his finger over the cover of Peggy's journal. One night Peggy realized that there was one name Darcy never said, one person whose mention would send her into a black funk. And Darcy talked about her partner, the soldier and the sniper and a man she missed desperately. It wasn't hard for her to finally put the pieces together, though her attempts to understand _how_ were stymied by Darcy's refusal to give any details. Of course, Peggy learned that horrible truth later. 

"Peggy looked for you," Steve told him, nudging the journals towards Bucky again. 

"Darcy said," Bucky replied flatly, looking away and turning his glass in his fingers again. 

"I wish a lot of things, Bucky. I wanted to look for you for longer, too," Steve said, the grief of that loss ever-present even with Bucky across from him. "We did look, but we didn't have the resources to do it longer. We … we just didn't."

"For Christ's sake, Steve," Bucky snapped, slapping the palm of one hand on the table. "It was a war and it wasn't your goddamned fault." His eyes narrowed in aggravation or maybe anger, and he sat forward, leaning over the table, to hiss, "And the second I'm dead you flew a fucking bomber into the ocean. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Steve jerked at the vehemence in his tone and felt stung. "Hey. I'm just supposed to let it fly into New York?"

"They coulda found you if you'd told them. I read that transcript. Jackass."

"You know what, Buck?" Steve shot back. "I did the best I could. I didn't have time."

Bucky glared at him. "You wanna know what eats me? That does."

"Buck—"

"No," Bucky cut him off and drained his glass. "You wish a lot of things, and so do I. I wish you hadn't gone off and got yourself experimented on. I know you, but I still wish you'd stayed home, stayed safe. But you didn't. And I wish I was there so you didn't fly that damned plane into the water. Or, at least, so you weren't alone when you did it." He clenched his jaw and his lips twitched with some heavy emotion. 

"I wish I wasn't the Winter Soldier, because, Steve, I hurt a lot of people. And I wish Darcy hadn't seen me in 1946. I scared the hell out of her, and I hurt your girl. I hate that. I hate that Darcy had to say good-bye to her grandfather because she knew I'd kill him before she was born. I wish I could have broken free from Hydra earlier, so you never had to fight me on that damned carrier, because I could have killed you." He took a deep breath and stared off at one wall of the bar. "I wish a lot of damned things, Steve." 

Steve stared down at his beer and nodded. "And none of it changes anything, does it?"

"No." Bucky raised his empty glass to Luke, and then set it down. "Somehow we're here."

"We are," Steve agreed, giving him a crooked little smile. 

Luke came back by with fresh beers for them, but left as quickly as he arrived. 

"I'll apologize to Darcy when I get back to the Tower," Steve said, feeling subdued and contrite. What a hell of a day. 

Taking a sip of his beer, Bucky nodded. "You oughta."

"She kept us safe."

"I guess she did."

"She's a real swell dame," Steve said with a tip of his head and a smirk. 

Bucky's lips pulled up in amusement. "Back off, Steve. You had your chance. I'm taking her dancing."

Steve laughed. "Is that right? Does she know that?"

"Yeah, she does," Bucky said, seeming satisfied and a little smug about that. 

It was Steve's turn to lean over the table towards his friend, but he felt something like happiness, maybe even hope when he did it. There were worse things than two of his closest friends being … whatever they were. It would sure as hell make it easier to keep track of both of them. "So where're you taking her?"

Bucky frowned and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I dunno. I think it'll have to be when she's in London. I said I'd visit. There's a couple places seem okay." 

"Let me see 'em," Steve said, craning his neck to look down at Bucky's phone.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint took a furtive glance down the hall. The nursing home let him in, they almost always let him in, he was on the list, after all. It felt like cheating, though, so he smuggled his duffle in through the laundry service. Well, and they liked to search him when he visited now. There was a post-Manhattan incident when he forgot he was wearing his quiver. The whole thing was stupid, because it wasn't like there were any arrows in it. Sure, okay, there was the knife in his boot, too, but it wasn't like it was a really big one. They overreacted, basically. At least they still let him in. 

Now, he just had to find the laundry room. 

Phil Coulson changed his life and offered him a new one, but Peggy Carter made him want that new life, made him believe he could have it. She told him he was a good man, and nobody'd ever told him that before, nobody'd ever seen him as something more than an irritating mouth to feed, or a tool for making money. But Peggy did. She stuck by him through his rocky first couple years in SHIELD, and he knew, absolutely knew, she'd saved his ass from the fire at least once. 

Maybe twice. _Somebody_ ordered SHIELD to pull him out of Colombia when that whole thing went tits up. It sure as hell wasn't Fury, who was more angry than Clint had ever experienced, and plenty ready to let him hang. When the sat phone connection died, Clint prepared himself for a bloody battle that would no doubt lead to his gruesome death. But then an extraction team turned up. Like, out of nowhere.

Fury never said one word about it, just came by to stare at him in the hospital one day and tell him he was a goddamned idiot. No argument. Peggy refused to admit it was her, she just lit into him and asked what the bloody hell he thought he was doing. It was probably the most hair-raising dressing down he'd ever gotten in his life, and he kind of adored her all the more for it. Nobody else had ever really cared about him, either. 

Then there was the day he brought Natasha to see her for the first time. By then Fury was used to the Clint Barton way of following the spirit of orders if not quite the letter. So, his job was to take out the Black Widow, and he did. She wasn't a threat anymore, was she, sir? All that got him was an eyeroll and a 'she's your problem now, don't fuck it up'; not even a suspension. Then he'd brought Natasha to Peggy. When he introduced them, Natasha hung to one side of the room with her back to a wall, watching every door, while Peggy smiled and offered them coffee. There was a little something smug in that smile, like she'd been waiting for them all along. 

And now he knew she had been. Because of Darcy. Because she told Peggy Carter all about her SOs, and though she didn't admit she'd said nice things about him, she must have. Because Peggy waited for him for more than fifty years. Honest to God, that made his eyes water a little bit. All those years he didn't think anybody cared, somebody did. 

It was a damned funny thing. He and Natasha trained the woman who saved their lives before either of them were born. They both hoped they did right by Darcy; her training wasn't always what you might call regular. But they tried their best. She wasn't exactly your standard agent, but then neither were they. It seemed to have worked out okay, because she got herself out of some nasty scrapes and he'd claim partial credit for that. And they must have done okay by her, because Peggy Freaking Carter believed in them. 

He found the laundry room and lifted his duffle carefully out of the cart. Placing a hand on the bottom of it, trying to keep the cartons inside steady, he ducked his head around the door, then darted back down the hall to Peggy's room. He paused at the door, listening, making sure nobody was with her, then opened the door and slipped in. A quick glance confirmed they were alone, then he looked over at Peggy who was asleep. 

Grinning, he set to work. He pulled a tray table over her bed, slid the small bundle of slightly tattered flowers out of the bag and set them in a vase. Then he pulled out the two cartons and the two plates he'd stuffed in there. She woke as he was putting their dinner on the plates.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Peggy," he said softly and scurried off to the other side of the room to grab two plastic glasses off a sideboard. 

"Clint? What on earth are you doing?" She struggled to sit more upright and he rushed back to raise the head of her bed. 

"I owe you dinner."

She frowned at him, puzzled. "Do you?"

"Yeah. It's been seventeen years." He set the cups down and lifted the bottle of whiskey from his bag. Good stuff. He'd stolen it from Tony. 

"Seventeen years," she murmured, watching him as he set their makeshift table. 

"Yeah. You know, making a bet with a cocky nineteen-year old dumbass is pretty … what d'you call it? … dirty pool?" He tipped the bottle of whiskey at her and opened the top, pouring them both a finger of the amber liquor. 

"Ah," she said after a moment and smiled. "Talk to Darcy did you?"

"I did." Next he pulled over a chair next to her bed and sat down. He was slightly lower than the tray table, but he'd make do. "I owe you filet mignon and whiskey. I'm making good. Even though, again, dirty pool and basically, just kind of cheating."

Peggy laughed lightly and nodded at the meal. "It looks very nice, Clint."

"You need me to cut that up?" he asked, pointing a plastic knife at the steak.

"If you please."

"No prob." He stood back up and started cutting her filet. "You believed in me, you know how much that means to me."

"You've always been worth it," she said. 

"Thanks. You believed because Darcy believed. That's crazy, right?"

"No, Clint, it's not. I don't remember everything Darcy said, but she spoke of you more often than anybody. I thought you must have been something special." She reached out a hand and rested it on his. "And you are." 

"I don't know about that," he demurred with a shrug. It wasn't always the easiest thing to be the normal guy on a team of not normal people. A billionaire with a weaponized flying suit of armor, a not-so-jolly green giant, Captain F'in America himself, and the actual God of Thunder. Christ. And then, of course, Natasha. What was he? A guy who was good with a bow. 

"I do," Peggy said firmly, giving his hand a pat and letting go. He resumed his cutting. "I say this with all modesty, but you know, three quite remarkable women think the world of you. That's not so awful, is it?"

"Not even for a second," he assured her. When he was done with her plate, he handed her a cup and raised his own. "Thanks for waiting for me, Peggy."

Peggy raised her cup with a shaking hand. "You're very welcome, Clint. Thank you for choosing to be the man I always knew you were."

Clint clinked the plastic rims together, and they each took a sip, Peggy licking her lips appreciatively. 

"Sharon will murder you if she finds you brought me whiskey."

"I have _zero_ plans to tell her," Clint told her with a dismissive sort of snort, tucking into his dinner. 

"This is excellent, however. Worth your demise," Peggy commented, setting her cup down carefully and picking up her fork. "Did you nick it from Tony?"

"I did," Clint admitted with a grin.

"Wonderful. Well done, my boy."


End file.
